


Always Right

by goddessofcruelty



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Scott McCall, Angst, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Frottage, M/M, Masturbation, Underage Drinking, Underage Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-04
Updated: 2014-08-05
Packaged: 2018-02-11 16:35:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2075232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goddessofcruelty/pseuds/goddessofcruelty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I don't have a-” Peter breaks off as Chris Argent comes through the door with the pizzas the kids had ordered. “Mate.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [wellfourthings](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wellfourthings/gifts).



> Prompt: Petopher, Pretend!Husbands

“We have a small problem. Well, not a problem, really, more like a tiny difficulty, or a-”

“Stiles,” Scott interrupts. “What is it?”

“We got a letter from a pack in upstate New York.”

“Why is that a problem?”

“They want to forge an alliance!” Stiles' hands wave in the air wildly and Scott furrows a brow.

“Oookay...?”

“No. Dude. They want your _conciliator_ and mate to join them at, um, some backwoods spot.”

“What's a..conceal..whatever?”

“Dude, I don't have a fucking clue.”

Lydia blinks up from her book. “From Latin _conciliāre -_ to bring together, from – _concilium,_ meaningcouncil. Um, they want your negotiator.”

Scott blinks down at her. “Uh, do we have one of those?”

“Nope,” says Stiles, popping the 'p' sound and then shrugging at Scott's dirty look. “Not only that, no one here is married. Or werewolf married. Mates. Whatever.”

“Well just send them a letter saying that we're kids and we don't have any of that,” Scott shrugs and goes back to showing Kira how to weave the net on her lacrosse stick.

Stiles facepalms and takes the letter to the kitchen to show it to Derek. He frowns at the carrots he's chopping and then shakes his head. “Not an option. They'll be insulted.”

Derek lifts hazel eyes to Stiles. “There's only one person that knows enough to pull off an alliance.”

-

“I am not sending Peter to be my representative. I'd rather go myself.”

“Can't do that Scott. Looks weak.”

He makes a face at Derek, who shrugs. “You need alliances.”

“Bigger problem,” Stiles gestures. “Peter's very not-married, mated, whatever.”

“Why? You interested, Stiles?” Peter's voice purrs from the shadows, and the boy in question jumps and nearly falls off the back of the sofa.

“Oh look, it's Uncle Creepy. Time for you to earn your way here, buddy.” Stiles shoves the letter at him, and they all watch as he reads it over twice.

“Hm, yes, I see your problem,” he murmurs softly. “This is a test you can't pass. And when you fail, they'll attack and take over. Only reason they're offering first is because of the Alpha pack fiasco. You managed to get yourself a reputation with that, Scott, nice job by the way.”

Scott purses his lips. “Can you do it?”

“Of course,” Peter shrugs, he's observed these things before though he's never had a direct hand in it. “But Stiles is right. I'm very not mated.”

Scott rolls his eyes. “Can't you just tell them that?”

Peter rubs the bridge of his nose. “I forget sometimes that Derek taught you absolutely nothing about werewolf culture.”

Derek snorts. “Not my division.”

Stiles blinks. “Did you just?”

“Not the point, children. I don't have a-” Peter breaks off as Chris Argent comes through the door with the pizzas the kids had ordered. “Mate.”

-

“No.”

Peter is leaning up against the fridge, arms crossed, watching Chris as he opens his beer.

“Do you have a better option, Christopher?”

“I'd rather go to war.”

Peter snorts and rolls his eyes. “ _Not_ a better option. Don't you think they've seen enough fighting? Alliances will brings them peace.”

Chris thinks about the hell these kids have lived through, then he thinks about spending a week pretending to be with Peter. “There's got to be another way.”

“Who else could I take, Christopher? Derek and Malia are out, for obvious reasons. Scott can't go, and Kira is his girlfriend. The Sheriff and Scott's mom are together. Which leaves Stiles and Lydia. Which one of them would you rather I be mates with?”

Chris is silent as he drinks his beer.

Peter lets him think it through. He knows what the answer will be.

-

“Alright, we're going to lay down some ground rules.”

Peter looks up from his coffee, represses the smirk that threatens to break out across his face, and rests his chin on his fist, looks up at Chris attentively.

“No touching outside of what we have to. Separate beds. No pictures or video. And we never talk about it again when it's done.”

Peter doesn't give away the sting of hurt, surprised at how that one phrase can bring old memories to the fore.

“You're very good at never talking about it again,” he mutters, and then shrugs before Chris can say anything. “Fine.”

Peter stalks out of there before he does anything stupid and shuts himself in his room.

-

“ _We're never talking about this again,” Chris hisses at Peter, who's got him pushed up against the brick wall of the school, where the wolf had asked him to meet. “It's over, we're over. It didn't mean anything.”_

_It's summer and the brick is hot against his back, and the only sound other than Peter's snarling is the cicadas in the field and the birds in the nearby forest._

“ _I_ know _you felt something for me, Christopher, it wasn't just a fling. You can't lie to a werewolf.”_

_Oh but Chris_ can _. He knows how, knows the trick of it, because he was taught the skill as part of his training to kill Peter's kind._

“ _I don't love you, Peter Hale.”_

_Chris' blue eyes are steely as he looks into Peter's, and he's in absolute control of himself as he watches the wolf's heart shatter, crumble, watches the tears well up and spill over._

_Peter's already changing, shifting as he whirls away and takes off at breakneck speed._

_Next time Chris had seen him was in that hospital room after the fire, over a decade later._

-

Chris pulls his gun and aims it right at the shadow uncurling itself from his bed.

“So _dramatic_ , Christopher.”

 _Peter_. He sighs and tucks the gun away. “What are you doing here?”

“I thought we were pretending to be mates now.”

“The deal was to pretend for this duration of this meeting.”

“The only problem with that, Christopher, is that we're going to a meeting with _werewolves_. And you smell like the enemy. You should smell like me.”

Chris grits his teeth, but he can't deny Peter's point. However, “You're not pissing on me, Hale.”

“I find it interesting that your mind immediately went there. A hidden kink, perhaps?” Peter stretches along the bed, smirking as Chris turns and start rummaging through his drawers. “Nonetheless, that won't be required. We just have to-”

Peter is cut off by a pile of shirts landing on his face.

“We'll swap some clothes for a few days. That ought to do it.”

The werewolf grumbles, but Chris is technically right. Peter just had a different idea on how to mix their scents.

-

Chris waits until he's certain Peter is gone, then lays down on his bed, bunching the covers that smell like Peter and pulling them close.

He reminds himself that Peter is _not_ the boy he fell in love with all those years ago. This Peter is cold and ruthless, and incapable of any sort of tender feelings. Everything Chris loved had been burned away in the fire.

It doesn't help.

-

“You are a control freak.”

“You're not driving my car, Hale.”

“Peter. You can't go around calling me by my last name.”

“Watch me.”

“Oh I do _like_ watching you,” Peter purrs.

He sees the twitch in Chris' finger, hears the hitch in his breath, but the Hunter's heartbeat remains perfectly steady. _Well, now that is interesting_...

-

New York is a long way away, and wolves do not fly well, so a cross-country drive it is.

Peter insists they start acting like a couple, and he starts touching Chris constantly. Hand wrapped around his forearm, or resting at the small of his back, or on one memorable occasion, curled around the back of his neck.

And though Chris grits his teeth and pulls away from it as soon as possible without being awkward, he can't lie to himself that it's not altogether unpleasant. It makes him feel safe, oddly enough.

Which puts the hunter even more on edge. Because if there's someone you need to always keep on your toes around, it's Peter Hale.

-

“Separate beds, Hale.” Chris is just inside the doorway, staring at the king-size bed in the ridiculously large room, and he's damned sure this is not the reservation that he made.

“They didn't have any luxury suites with double beds. You can sleep in the chair if it offends your delicate sensibilities.”

Chris turns to chew Peter out, but the werewolf is fucking stripping on his way to the shower. Chris gets an eyeful of bare ass as Peter tugs down his jeans, before he starts and tears his gaze away.

“You're welcome to join me,” Peter says, and Chris snorts.

“Not gonna happen, Hale.”

But he stares at the bathroom door and thinks about it a long, long time.

-

Chris ends up falling asleep there in the chair. Peter makes a face as he sees his 'accidental forgetting of his clothes necessitating walking through the room in only a towel' is wasted.

Then a look crosses Peter's face that someone who didn't know him might classify as...tender. He considers for a moment, then rests a hand on the hunter's shoulder, tensing for retaliation.

When none comes, Peter lifts the man and transfers him to the bed. That does wake him, but surprisingly not in a violent way.

“Peter?” comes the sleepy voice, pale blue eyes half-lidded.

“Hush, you take the bed.”

Chris mumbles something but wraps a fist in the covers and lets himself be sucked back under.

Peter sits in the chair and watches him sleep.

-

Chris wakes up in the bed, immediately stiffening as he realizes, turning over to see the wolf sleeping in the chair. He relaxes all at once, flops back and tries very hard not to think about the fact that he feels safe enough around Peter to not wake up when being moved, and that Peter respected his wishes about the sleeping arrangements.

He firmly decides it doesn't mean anything and then gets up and heads into the shower. Chris makes sure to lock the door, just in case, and then steps inside, shivering as he steps into the hot water. Chris has it up as high as it can go, relishing the feel of it scalding him clean. He manages to not think about Peter until he's washing his body, slick hands sliding across himself, and the thought of it being Peter's hands doing so, sparks something inside.

Chris clenches his jaw and tries to ignore it but it's not going away and he sighs and gives in, wraps his hand around his half-hard length and starts stroking.

-

As soon as the shower comes on, it wakes Peter up, and he darts a glance to see the mussed covers of the bed. Without making a conscious decision to do so, Peter crawls into the still-warm hollow left by Chris' body, breathes in the scent of his mate – er, _pretend_ mate – and curls up, planning on catching a few more winks.

Out of recently acquired habit, he focuses his hearing on Chris' heartbeat to settle down, and Peter is almost asleep when the rhythm of Chris' heart spikes. He's almost half-way to the bathroom door when he starts hearing the hitches and gasps of the hunter's breathing pattern, and then it becomes all too clear what Chris is doing in the shower.

Peter groans into the empty room as he falls back down on the bed, and lays there listening to Chris. He turns over as the shower shuts off, curls on his side away from the hunter and feigns sleep. He is not about to explain just _how_ good his hearing is, and definitely not going to display the painfully hard erection tenting his pajama pants.

-

Chris looks the younger man over as he pulls on one of Peter's shirts. He would never admit it, but he likes the wolf's clothing. Chris has never bothered to pay attention to quality or fit, just grabbed dark colors on sale and made do.

Peter's shirts are soft and extremely comfortable. It has absolutely nothing to do with how they smell like him.

The werewolf doesn't move, so Chris decides to go out for some breakfast, coffee and those boston crème doughnuts that are Peter's favorite.

He only knows that because Peter went on a rant one day after Derek got the wrong kind, and it stuck in his head, _not_ because he cares.

-

They drink coffee and eat their breakfast on the road.

Peter had them packed up and checked out by the time Chris returned. He'd shrugged at the arched brow. “Excess energy.”

Chris still insists on driving. Peter stares out the window. After an hour of absolute silence, Chris flicks on the radio.

Peter narrows his eyes as George Jones belts out from the radio, turns and looks at Chris. “You're kidding, right?”

“Problem, Hale?”

“You have awful taste in music, _Argent_.”

“Let me guess, you listen to death metal.”

Peter snorts and reaches for the dial, twists it until he hears the plaintive note of an oboe. “Not exactly.”

He leans back in his seat, turns his head to resume looking out the window, and hums along to the piece.

“This shit'll put me to sleep,” mutters Chris, but he doesn't change it.

-

Eventually, there's nothing but talk radio, and so they are forced to listen to that rather than the silence. Until Peter snorts in derision at a commentator, and Chris says, “What?” before he can think about it.

This starts a conversation that lasts all the way to their next reservation. It's a surprisingly good way to pass the time.

Peter's altered their reservations again, and Chris doesn't even know how he did it, considering the hunter never told him anything about their itinerary. But here they are in front of a bed and breakfast that is most certainly not the cheap motel that Chris had booked.

Peter winks and sweeps past Chris, extending his arms as a woman comes out of the inn calling his name. She's speaking something that Chris can _almost_ understand, so it has to be a Romance language. Whatever it is, Peter is speaking it fluently.

Chris shrugs and starts unloading their bags, grabs all four of them and starts heading their way. She asks Peter what is obviously a question about Chris, and Peter answers her with wry amusement. Then she yells something at Peter, and he actually looks chastened as she whacks him with a large wooden spoon and points imperiously at the human.

Chris arches a brow as Peter returns to his side. “Friend of yours?”

Peter sighs. “ _That_ is my great-aunt Remei.” He scowls at Chris as he pulls the luggage from the older man. “And she yelled at me for making my mate do all the work.”

Chris stiffens. “She's a...?”

“Of course,” says Peter, “And if we can fool her, we can fool the other pack.”

The hunter sighs and rubs his face. Apparently, it's time to play house.


	2. Chapter 2

“How did you two meet?”

They're sitting around her living room with root beers, of all things, and Chris leans forward to take a sip so that he doesn't have to answer that question. They probably should have discussed cover stories before now.

“We actually met during high school, dated a bit, you know how these things go, and then a few years ago, Chris came back to town and we got...reacquainted.”

Chris is amused because all of that is technically true and yet...not. He leans back with his drink. Maybe this won't be so bad.

-

Chris isn't sure how things got to this point but he's seriously reconsidering his life choices. The only way he can explain things is that he hadn't had enough coffee before Peter had started talking and now well, now Chris is in this mess.

Wandering along an outdoor market, _holding hands_ with Peter Hale.

Keeping up appearances, Peter had said, before dragging Chris out, and his right hand twitches because he's doesn't have any weapons and there are way too many people.

Chris can't smell of hunter, so anything with gunpowder or wolfsbane had to stay home. Sure, he's got his bladed weapons, but not on him.

The fact that he's holding hands with a walking, talking weapon doesn't reassure him in the least.

He has no idea what Peter has purchased, Chris really isn't paying attention, side eying everyone suspiciously. It seems he was right to, as a man comes up to Peter, eyes flashing golden for a half second, leaning forward with that barely-there flare of nostril as he takes in Peter's scent.

Peter lets go of Chris' hand and gives the hunter his bags of purchases, before he rounds on the other wolf, and Chris has a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach.

It gets even worse when Peter tilts his head slightly sideways, and Chris realizes that he's acknowledging the higher rank of the other.

The new man then takes a step towards Chris, and Peter's entire attitude changes. He rises up, lifts his chin and flashes supernaturally blue eyes at the man.

“So, it's true,” the man says after a moment of very tense face-off, relaxing back. “Peter Hale has finally settled down.”

“Settled wouldn't be the word I would use, but I _have_ taken a mate.”

The man arches a brow, darts his gaze to the open v at Chris' neck. “No collar,” he says flatly.

Peter shakes his head softly. “Not his area of interest.”

The man smirks then leans in. “You know where to find me if you change your mind.” And then he swaggers off, and Peter mutters something under his breath that Chris doesn't hear. The other werewolf does, turns and air kisses at Peter before disappearing into the crowd.

Chris arches a brow, but Peter sweeps past him, leaving the hunter to follow in his wake, good mood obviously evaporated.

Peter disappears into their room when they get back, leaving Chris to settle in the family room with a book.

“Where's my boy?”

Chris lifts a smile up to their hostess. “Resting.”

She wags a finger at him. “Don't you lie to me, I heard he ran into Morgan, poor thing. That was a rough breakup.”

Chris arches a brow at her, and she settles down beside him. “Now there are things you need to know, I'm not going to spill Petey's secrets but he's had some very hard times. He doesn't love or even trust easily, which is why he waited so long to mate.”

Chris is _really_ not interested in hearing about Peter's apparently troubled love life, but while he's trying to figure a way to extricate himself from the situation, she continues.

“It's all his mother's fault, lord knows we were never close, but that woman.” Remei shakes her head. “She's the reason poor Aaron went and got himself killed, but I won't speak ill of the dead, just know that when she got herself killed challenging the Alpha, it broke something in Peter. He loved her before anything in the world, sweet boy.”

Chris tries to wrap his head around Peter being a _sweet boy_ at some point in his life.

Remei continues. “And then he falls in love when he's seventeen, falls hard and completely. Naturally it didn't last, when do high school sweethearts ever last? But he was a complete mess after, just devastated.” Chris looks away from her intent gaze, relieved she doesn't know that he was also that first love. “That's when he came to live here for a while, to get away from all that. And then he goes home and the fire happens.”

She pushes up from the couch, stopping to rest a hand on Chris' arm on the way past.

“At any rate, the _reason_ I'm telling you all this dirty laundry, is to make you aware that you're in a very rare position of holding Petey's heart in your hands. And Christopher?” He looks up to see flashing red eyes as his spine shivers with fear.

“If you hurt him, I will rip you into pieces so small they won't be recognizable as human.” Then her eyes go back to normal and she beams brightly. “Now, how about some cookies?”

-

Chris settles on the chair he'd borrowed, brought up to the bedroom, and leans over to unlace his boots. The lights are off but the full moon shining through the window lets him see.

“Your aunt threatened me today.” Peter is silent in the bed, but Chris can feel his attention. “Said if I broke your heart, she'd rip me into tiny pieces.” He chuckles once. “I like her.”

“You tell her you already did?” Peter sits up and throws the covers back and Chris just blinks. Peter has absolutely nothing on.

He doesn't even realize he's staring until Peter's voice purrs out into the darkness of the room. “Like what you see?”

Silver moonlight drapes across Peter's skin like a silk sheet, and highlights the planes of his perfect body.

“Fucking werewolves,” Chris mutters, looking away and back to his boots as he slides them and his socks off.

“That would be a marked improvement in our situation,” Peter says as he stalks closer, reaches out to touch Chris, but the human flinches away.

“No.” He clears his throat. “None of that. You know the rules.”

The hand withdraws, and Peter is turning away and gone through the window.

-

Peter runs until he feels his lungs burning, and then collapses backwards onto the ground, staring up at the moon.

He's starting to realize what a bad idea this was.

Peter had thought it would be fun to mess with the hunter, playing mates and making Chris uncomfortable the whole weekend. Except, he's not affecting the older man at all, rather the opposite.

Peter tries very hard not to think about the little shards of hurt that pierce his heart every time Chris rejects him. His heart was shattered a long time ago by this man, and Peter never bothered to put it back together.

Nothing gets to Peter Hale. Especially not Chris Argent. _Not again._

-

Chris stares out the window for a long, long time, then heaves a sigh and finishes getting ready for bed. He just fucking wishes Peter would stop mocking him with the come-ons and innuendos. They're supposed to be pretending for the fucking Pack, and he'd _agreed_ to help. He doesn't know why Peter has to make it so much harder on him.

_Because he's a sociopathic asshole_ , his mind whispers to him, but instead of focusing on that as he lays down in the recently vacated bed, Chris dreams of sixteen year old Peter, with his pretty face and that thin veneer of sarcasm layered over a deep well of darkness.

-

_Chris is almost twenty-one._ Just a few more days _, he thinks,_ and then I'll be a man grown _. Hid dad won't be able to push him around then._

_That little voice inside his head, that sounds an awful lot like Gerard, sneers._ That's what you thought at sixteen, and then again at eighteen.

_Chris sighs and upends the bottle. He's so drunk that he doesn't even know where exactly he's at, just that he's somewhere in the woods. Not that it matters. There's no one looking for him._

_He stumbles, trips over something, falls to his knees, and then back on his heels. It's as good of a place as any other, he supposes._

_He scoots until his back is against a tree, and pulls the other bottle from his backpack. “Fuck you, dad,” he mumbles before he twists the top off and takes a sip._

“ _That's a familiar refrain.”_

_Chris blinks up, twisting his head for the source of the voice, not seeing it until he looks up. There's a boy in the tree._

_Chris feels obligated to point this out. “You're in a tree.”_

“ _And you're either incredibly stupid or incredibly drunk, Christopher Argent.”_

_Chris looks at the bottle, thinks. “Both,” he shrugs and takes another drink._

_Peter drops down next to him, and Chris' sluggish mind puts two and two together._

“ _Wolf,” he says, prodding at the kid's chest. “Hale?”_

“ _Not stupid,” Peter says, flashing golden eyes with a grin before reaching out and snagging the bottle from Chris._

“ _Hey, you can't even get drunk.” He swipes it back, closes his eyes, then they fly open. “You know my name.”_

“ _I've seen you picking up your sister.”_

_Chris closes his eyes and nods a bit. “Still don't explain how you know my name.”_

“ _Wolf hearing.” Peter steals the bottle and takes another swig._

“ _What d'you want, Hale?”_

“ _Peter. Same thing you want.”_

_Chris turns bleary blue eyes to the younger boy, who reaches a hand out and slides a thumb along Chris' cheekbones. And he's drunk, but not drunk enough to not understand what the kid is asking. He hears his father making vicious comments about_ those _kinds, he thinks about the girl he's going to marry, he thinks about all the times he's done what's best for his family. And suddenly, Chris wants something that's all his, only for him, and he turns his face, pressing a kiss to the werewolf's palm._

“ _How old are you, kid?”_

_Peter tilts his head. “Older than I look.”_

“ _Not old enough to consent.” Chris is certain of that._

_Peter drinks from the bottle again. “You're too drunk to consent, technically, so it balances out.”_

_Chris furrows a brow, because that doesn't seem quite right? But Peter shifts, moves in front of, kneels between Chris' knees, and pulls the hunter into a kiss._

_And then after that it's a blur of teeth and tongues and hands everywhere, until suddenly they're both up on their knees, with Chris' large hand wrapped around both their dicks and they're groaning into each other's mouths as first Peter then Chris spills over his hand._

_Chris falls back a bit, just managing to put himself away before passing out against the rough bark of the tree._

_Peter climbs back into the tree and watches over him._

-

They're both quiet, withdrawn as they take their leave from the bed and breakfast, and four hours later as they reach the camping ground where the other pack is supposed to be, they still haven't spoken.

Peter is closed off, a blank wall, and Chris is lost in the sad memories of how good things had been before his dad found out.

They climb out of the car, and Peter leans against the hood, lets out a howl that nearly makes Chris drop the keys in his hand. He darts a glare at the wolf, but the younger man tilts his head, listening, and then points west. “About a mile inward, that way. We'll hike from here.”

Chris silently gets their packs together, locks the SUV, and follows Peter into the woods.

As they get close, even his human nose catches the scent of roasting meat, and he's just about to walk right into the campsite, when Peter curls his hand around the back of Chris' jacket and tugs him backwards.

“Follow,” he hisses, and Chris blinks in surprise, taken aback, but he does so, keeps to Peter's back and left, tense and edgy, until Peter halts, flashes too-bright blue eyes at the human. “You remember the Calavera fight?”

“Son of a-” Chris draws his weapons, the short knife and the long electrical prod, and turns his back to Peter's. It's not thirty second before there's a snarling attack, and Chris jabs with the prod, pushing the wolf past him, into Peter's waiting claws.

They disabled five betas before the Alpha appears over a ridge, flanked by two more betas, and Chris thinks maybe this is it. Peter relaxes behind him, and then steps forward, resting a hand on Chris' arm. He looks into the blue eyes, then flips the electricity off, holstering his weapons, then takes a spot flanking Peter's right.

“Alpha Miller. I'm honored.” Peter is calm, managing to sound like he's meeting her at a social occasion, and not in the middle of a forest after her pack has attacked him.

Chris suddenly realizes that he – and Scott's pack – know shit about werewolf etiquitte.

The woman walks forward, chin lifting in the air and nostrils flaring. She comes at Peter, stalking slow, and the werewolf looks into her eyes the entire time, and it's not until she's right in front of him, that Peter bares his neck to her.

Chris stiffens slightly, keeps his weapons free, because if she so much as scrapes Peter's skin, Chris will kill her. But she simply laughs, low and throaty, and sniffs his neck. Chris can't see Peter's face, see how he's taking this, so he fixes the Alpha with a blank stare and waits.

“Peter Hale,” she says, “It's been a very long time.” She hauls Peter into a hug, and the movement is so sudden that Chris twitches out his prod and takes an aborted half-step before he realizes.

Peter doesn't hug her back. “Years.”

Her eyes, still flared red, dart between them as she releases the beta, and she turns to look Chris over slowly. “Little old for you, isn't he, Peter? And a human no less.”

Peter very deliberately steps into her line of sight, putting himself between her and Chris. “I believe you requested a negotiation, Alpha Miller.”

Her eyes narrow and then she nods. “Indeed.”


	3. Chapter 3

Apparently werewolves have ceremonies for everything.

Chris and Peter have been introduced – well Peter has been, Chris was just “and his mate” – and now the Alpha serves them meat with her own hands. Peter accepts the single plate, and then holds it, waits for everyone around this campfire to be served. From what Chris can see, the same thing is being repeated around the other fires.

Alpha Miller settles down, takes the first bite herself, and then feeds a bite from her plate to the beta next to her. That seems to be the cue, because everyone digs in, except the three, like him, who don't have a plate.

Chris soon learns that he's expected to eat from Peter's hand. Chris is fairly certain that the glimmer in Peter's blue eyes is sheer amusement as the older man leans forward and delicately takes the bit from the werewolf. He looks hard into Peter's eyes, lifts his chin and makes it look like Peter's doing _him_ a favor as he chews.

Amusement changes to appreciation as Peter's eyes shift from holding Chris' gaze, to skating possessively along the human's exposed neck. Chris tilts his head slightly, arches a brow, and silently dares him to make a comment.

The Alpha clears her throat, and both Chris and Peter turn to look at her at the same time. She laughs. “You two have an interesting relationship dynamic. How long have you been together?”

Chris steals a piece of meat from Peter's plate as the wolf shrugs. “Off and on for almost twenty years.”

“And yet you don't act like long-time partners.”

Peter ignores the dig. “What exactly do you want from Sc- Alpha McCall?”

“Business later, Peter,” she rebukes him, but stops prodding him about Chris. For his part, Chris covertly watches the couples around him, building a baseline of proper behavior.

-

Chris thinks he's doing fairly well, until later, when the alcohol comes out, and both he and Peter beg off, but everyone starts pairing off, or tripling in a few cases. Peter looks at him, and Chris knows the wolf is giving him an out, but the hunter promised to do this, and so he reaches out, runs a hand along Peter's cheek. The werewolf closes his eyes, and leans into Chris' touch, before sliding an arm around the older man's waist and tugging him close.

Peter's eyes look into his for a long minute, and then the wolf is kissing him.

This isn't the awkward presses of lips like when they were young, or the soft plumpness of his wife yielding to him, this is strong and demanding, and there's a lance of fire licking along his spine as Peter plunders his mouth.

When Peter finally breaks free, Chris takes a deep steadying breath, dizzily following Peter as the younger man leads them, by scent Chris is assuming, to a tent where their things have been settled. Peter zips the entrance, starts pulling off his shirt and jeans. Chris hesitates a second and then shrugs off his jacket, folding it on top of his duffel.

He waits to see what Peter will do, but the wolf simply lies down on the far side of the mattress with his back to Chris.

It takes a couple seconds for Chris' brain to catch up. _Stupid_ , of course it was just a ruse, of _course_ the kiss meant nothing to Peter.

Chris sets his jaw and silently gets himself ready for bed, crawls into the closest side, and tugs his blanket up over his shoulders. He watches the flickering from the the campfires outside for a long time.

-

Peter waits until Chris' breath evens out in true sleep before he shifts, rolls onto his back and stares at the tent's ceiling. He's been fighting with his inner wolf for an hour now. _You're not really mates_ , he reminds himself but it doesn't help.

The way Chris had responded to his kiss had flipped a switch in his animal brain, and even though Peter knows it's all a front, he still _wants_. Peter wants to pin Chris down, make him writhe with need, cover him in Peter's scent, leave his marks all over the older man.

_Its just that it's been so long_ , he thinks, not because he's actually got any feelings for the human.

Chris shifts in his sleep, and Peter turns to look at him. He resists the urge to run his fingers through the older man's beard, lips quirking in a tiny smile as he recalls the human's first attempt at growing one.

-

“ _You've got something on your chin.”_

_Chris doesn't jump but his heart skips a beat, and Peter grins as he steps through the hunter's window._

“ _Peter? What the hell are you doing here? Are you stupid? If my dad finds out-”_

“ _Yeah, yeah, he'll kill me, I know. I'll hear them coming.” Peter is still grinning as he reaches out and rubs his thumb along Chris' chin._

_The hunter flushes and mumbles something and swats Peter's hand away._ “ _At least I can grow one, you've got a baby face.”_

“ _You're trying to look older?” Peter tilts his head. “There's a job. He's sending you on your own.”_

“ _I hate when you do that.”_

_Peter notices that Chris doesn't answer the question. He resolves to find out._

“ _I just can't imagine you with a full beard.” Peter stretches across Chris' bed._

_Chris turns to look at the boy, leans back in his desk chair and watches as Peter starts palming himself through his jeans. Chris has very quickly learned about the werewolf's exhibitionist streak. He just loves showing himself off for Chris._

“ _Would you like that?” Chris questions softly. “Me looking older?”_

_Peter, as usual, takes the idea and runs with it. “Mm, you could be my sugar daddy, take care of me.” His eyes open, flared with beta gold. “Come here and take care of me now...Daddy.”_

_It's an invitation Chris can't possibly refuse._

-

When Chris wakes up, he's alone. He reaches out to rest his hand on Peter's side of the bed, but it's cold. The werewolf is long gone.

Rubbing his face, Chris gets dressed, making sure to have all his available weapons on him, in case yesterdays' attack is repeated.

He absently wanders through the camp, most everyone else is still sleeping, but there's someone making coffee over the campfire, and he hesitantly approaches the guy, relaxing when he's greeted with a smile.

“Lookin' for a cuppa?”

Chris nods and offers a smile in return. “That would be wonderful, thank you.”

The man pours him a cup, nods towards a small folding table that has cream and sugar. “How long you and Hale been together,” he asks absently as he starts stoking up the coals on the fire.

“Mm, not that long this time 'round. It's been an on and off thing.” Chris thinks that's alright, it meshes with Peter's previous stories.

“You take good care of him, he's good people.”

Chris arches a brow and turns around but the dude has already moved on to slicing a hunk of bacon, and Chris simply nods. “Thanks, man.”

He takes his cup, walks a little ways until Chris sees a bit of a rise he noticed on yesterday's hike, and he settles down to watch the rest of the sunrise, sipping absently at the hot liquid.

Chris sits, and thinks, and wonders. He finds it very strange that everyone is so worried about Peter. The wolf is an insane, undead, psychopath, and he's never claimed to be anything different. And he hadn't told Scott or Stiles that he knew this pack, hell, he probably knew about the letter before Scott did.

He's still trying to make sense of it all when there's a noise behind him, a deliberate cracking of twig, some sort of werewolf manners?, and Chris turns towards the sound to see the werewolf from the marketplace. He scrambles to his feet and tucks his hand in his jacket pocket for his knife.

“Relax.” The guy's got both hands out in front of him in a placating gesture. “I'm not here for a fight.”

“Morgan Miller.” Chris can see the resemblance now that he's met the Alpha.

Morgan nods and smiles. “Figures you'd be smart as well as handsome. Peter's always had excellent taste.”

Chris feels like he's walking in a minefield. “What can I do for you, Morgan?”

“You can leave.”

Chris arches a brow.

“You think I don't know that you're the one that broke him in the first place? He told me _everything_ about you, Chris _Argent_.” Morgan steps forward and Chris tightens his grip on the knife. “And I know that you don't deserve him. It took _years_ for him to be okay. And then he goes home to see his family, and your sister burns down the house, putting him in a coma for years.”

Morgan is looming over Chris now, and the hunter is tensed, coiled like a spring, waiting for the attack. “And then _your_ daughter and her friends burn him alive, because he hasn't had enough of fire in his life.”

“Morgan!” Peter's voice snaps out over the clearing.

“You're nothing but poison and you need to leave before you hurt him more than you already have.”

“Morgan. Down!”

Chris watches as the big man falls to his knees at the sharp tone of command in Peter's voice, watches Peter stalks around to Morgan's front.

“You will _not_ talk to my mate like that, you have no right, _and no claim_.”

“Peter, please-”

Peter's glare shuts him up, and Morgan looks at the ground. Peter nods and then looks to Chris. “You okay?”

“Somewhat confused, but unscathed.”

“Go back to the tent and stay there until I come for you.” Peter turns his back on Chris. “I need to deal with Morgan.”

Chris bristles at Peter trying to boss him around, but he does as requested, because he's a bit over his head in this situation. Chris does his best not to think about the way he had _reacted_ to that commanding tone in Peter's voice, reminds himself it's just a conditioned response, and doesn't mean anything.

-

“What was all that about?”

Peter's barely in the tent before Chris starts asking him questions, and the werewolf takes a deep breath and lets it out with a sigh. “It doesn't matter. Morgan won't be a problem any more.”

Chris is silent a moment. “Did you kill him?”

Peter shakes his head and huffs a bitter laugh. _It always comes down to that, doesn't it?_ They all think he just goes on murder sprees. Sometimes he really hates his pack.

“No,” Peter answers simply, then changes his shirt as it has blood spatter on it. “That would be rude.”

Chris narrows his eyes and Peter wonders what's going through his mind. “We're going to have a long discussion once we leave here.”

Peter tugs a new shirt on, meets that hard gaze. “No, Christopher, we're not.” He unzips the tent flap, pauses halfway through it. “Don't leave the campsite today.”

He walks away without waiting for Chris' answer, strides purposefully through the camp, heading for his meeting with the Alpha.

“Morgan threatened my mate this morning,” he says to her without preamble. “Don't worry, I left him alive, but that was the final nail in the coffin. Maggie,” he says, leaning forward and flashing supernatural blue eyes. “Why are you trying to provoke me into a fight?”

She looks up from her cup of tea, leans back in her chair and studies him.

“Word was your pack is weak, the Alpha's an idiot, your nephew is broken beyond repair, and your emissary can't magically get it up, so to speak. And yet Deucalion's pack was decimated.” Her eyes watch him intently. “My theory was that you snapped and killed them, given what you've been through and that you are the deadliest wolf I know. However, you seem remarkably sane, especially after having been repeatedly insulted. I'm guessing you've anchored yourself to Chris instead of the raw fury that used to be your hold on reality.”

Peter narrows his eyes slightly and then sits across from her. “You knew he had to send me. And you thought I was alone. This was a death sentence. Clever, I approve.” He pours himself a cup of tea and adds a bit of cream. “Now you need to decide. Are we actually going to forge an alliance, or am I packing up my mate and heading home?”

The Alpha is silent for a long moment, then reaches into the bag next to her, pulls out a rolled up piece of parchment and hands it over.

Peter's lips twitch in a smirk before he unrolls it and starts reading.

-

Chris bites his lip to keep himself silent, working his hand over his cock nice and slow. He's pretty sure that Peter is going to gone for a while and he's got to deal with this...situation.

Because all Chris can think about is the way that Peter ordered Morgan around, that tone of absolute command, and he can't stop imagining himself in that position, kneeling before the wolf, looking up at him. He can almost hear Peter's voice telling him to stay, not to move, making Chris beg for permission to finish.

Now he understands the collar comment in the market, imagines wearing that symbol of Peter's ownership, thinks about wearing nothing _but_ a collar, Peter's strong hands holding him in place by it.

Chris lets his fantasy develop further, goes through all the ways that Peter could dominate him, can almost taste the other man in his mouth, and even imagines Peter whispering his name into his ear.

And it's that last that brings him over the edge, the iron tang of blood on his tongue as he bites too hard with the effort of making no noise.

With a soft sigh, he relaxes back, lets his eyes flutter open – to see Peter standing frozen just inside the entrance to their tent.

 


	4. Chapter 4

Peter is very smug as he walks back from his meeting with Alpha Miller. He's got an iron-clad signed treaty for the McCall Pack, a promise to initiate a cross-training program with any pups that might come along in the future, and a mutual protection pact should another Pack attack them.

He can't wait to tell Chris how well he's done, thinks maybe he'll finally see a light of admiration in those beautiful blue eyes.

Peter's already thinking about how he's going to tell the older man when he steps into the tent, zipping it behind him, when the scent hits him – _Chris and sex_ , and he whips around just in time to see Chris' hand on himself, right there on the bed they've been sharing.

“Christopher...” he breathes, but Peter can't say anything else, just watches Chris come, memorizes the way his face looks when he does so.

He's frozen, staring at the sight before him when Chris opens his eyes and looks right at Peter.

The moment stretches forever, as Peter battles his wolf, who's howling in his mind to _take_ Chris, to lick his hand clean, taste his mate on his tongue, to push into him-

With a herculean effort of will, Peter tears his gaze away from the human splayed out in front of him, turns his back to Chris and leans on the card table there. His claws are out and he rends two sets of strips in the fabric covered cardboard before Peter can pull himself back together. Three more deep breaths and he's got control once again, at least on the surface. Because he knows that the last thing Chris would want is for Peter to climb into that bed with him. He's made _that_ very clear.

“Negotiations are over,” he states in a calm, flat tone. “Treaty signed. There'll be a hunt, which you won't be expected to take part in, and then a gathering, which you will. We leave in the morning.”

Another deep breath as he bites through his bottom lip, and then Peter ducks out of the tent, managing to walk normally until he's away from prying eyes.

When he reaches the treeline, Peter takes off running, pushes himself to the limit, heading straight for the lake. Once he gets there, he dives right in, the shock of the cold water sloughing off the last of his stupor over seeing Chris like _that_.

He swims until his muscles are burning, and then pulls himself up onto a flat rock, closing his eyes and listening to the sounds of the forest to calm himself down.

Peter hears a soft noise and opens his eyes to see Morgan leaning against a tree, watching him.

-

For a brief moment, Chris is certain that Peter will come over to him, will join him, that the wolf actually felt _something_ behind all the teasing innuendo. But he doesn't, because of course, the wolf doesn't _actually_ want him, it's all _fake._

Chris doesn't know why he can't seem to remember that, and he hears a familiar voice in his mind telling him how stupid and _worthless_ he is, as Peter turns away.

_Most likely in disgust_ , Chris thinks and he closes his eyes, tugs the blanket over to cover himself as Peter starts talking.

Naturally, he's as calm and collected as he ever is, and Chris has the irrational urge to do _something_ to make the werewolf react, respond, lose control.

He draws on years of training to keep himself still and silent as Peter lets the hunter know what's expected of him, and then he leaves, casually strolls out of the tent like he's got nothing on his mind.

Chris buries the shards of hurt that have somehow worked their way into his heart, shoves them in that locked closet in the back of his mind where all his other failures and humiliations go, and then sets about regaining his calm.

He cleans himself up with some wipes as best he can, then grabs his stuff and takes a long, cold shower at the facility nearby.

He's feeling human and in control again as he heads back to the campground, even managing to smile politely as the Alpha catches his eye and makes her way to his side.

“Chris!”

“Alpha Miller,” he says in greeting.

“Peter tells us that you've done a fair amount of skinning and field dressing?”

Another one of the bastard's sick jokes. Chris had tortured werewolves using those methods in his youth.

He inclines his head. “I haven't done it in a while though.”

“Do you feel like you'd be willing to give it a go for the feast? Cook broke his arm, and we could use the assist.”

Chris considers and then nods, forces a smile. He still has a job to do. “Of course.”

-

Hours later, Chris has skinned a couple squirrels, three rabbits, and a raccoon, and he's impressed by the efficiency of the pack's hunters. And these are just the young ones, those who'd tackled the first thing they'd found in the underbrush.

Chris is also impressed with the Pack's management of its resources, not one part of the killed animals are wasted.

There's a twenty minute lull after that, and Chris takes a moment to wash up, nodding his thanks as a kid comes around with cold beer for the kitchen crew. He idly watches a couple guys chop the squirrels and rabbit into stew meat, then wanders to watch the guy who is very carefully treating the raccoon fur.

He sees a trio of wolves come out of the forest with a good sized buck hoisted on the biggest one's shoulders, who lifts his head, fangs bared to let out a triumphant roar. Everyone in the camp turns and he gets some roars in return, and some scattered applause.

The deer put up a pretty good fight, Chris' eyes can see bloody slashes in the beta's clothing. Still, he gives them a bit of applause as they flop the deer down onto his table.

“Very nice, Gentlemen,” he nods and then rolls the deer into place, lifting the razor sharp knife and making a few expert slices.

He's pulled the organs out and deposited them in a bucket, and he's just starting to skin when he hears the Alpha announce that the hunt is over, the last team has returned.

Chris arches a brow and looks around.

_Peter's not here._

He turns back to see the Alpha looking at him, but her eyes slide away as soon as they make contact, almost...guiltily...

Suddenly, he _knows_.

There's one other wolf missing.

Chris still has the knife in his hand as he goes into the woods, and he's _certain_ they'll be on the ridge.

Turns out he's right, the human can hear the grunting noise, and then _other_ noises, and Chris _knew_ already, but it's a whole different thing to _see_ it happening in front of you.

Before Chris has a conscious thought to do it, the knife is flying through the air, and it's not until it buries itself right in Morgan's throat that Peter even notices his presence.

“Christopher!” He shoves away from the beta werewolf, steps towards the hunter, hands in front of him placatingly. “This is not-”

Peter's cut off by the electricity running through him as the taser finds its mark. Chris pulls out the blowgun with its powerful sedative bolts, and send one right into Peter's neck.

Morgan is gurgling and Chris puts him fully down with another dart. He's running on autopilot now, but he knows he needs to get the fuck out of dodge.

So he stalks back to camp after secreting his weapons and packs his things quickly and quietly. He skirts the edge of the camp as he makes the trek back to the SUV.

No one sees him go, and Chris doesn't look back.

-

Peter doesn't catch up to him until Michigan.

Chris is spending yet another sleepless night, fighting with himself and his feelings when there's a knock on the door. He ignores it, ignores Peter pounding on the door, and then the shouting.

Chris has no interest in seeing the werewolf.

Once again, what he wants doesn't mean shit as Peter simply breaks the door down.

Chris doesn't look away from the ceiling. “Go away, Peter.”

“I think we both know that's not going to happen.”

“Fuck off.”

Instead, Peter walks up to him, climbs right up onto the bed, right on top of Chris. The hunter throws a punch but Peter catches it, pins the older mans' wrists above his head.

“Tell me why.”

Instead of answering, Chris bucks and twists, but he's got absolutely no leverage and Peter just waits him out, and then asks his question again.

“Why did you attack him?”

Chris gives Peter a hard stare and clenches his jaw.

Peter leans in to kiss him but Chris turns his face away. “Get the fuck off of me.”

The werewolf ignores him, plants soft kisses along Chris' jawline and neck. “Why, Christopher,” he breathes into the human's ear.

“Would you stop fucking around and just leave me alone?” Chris' growl is cut off as he feels blunt teeth sink into his neck where it meets his shoulder, and he gasps out in surprise.

“You're such an _asshole_ ,” he mutters and starts fighting Peter again.

“Tell me.” Peter voice is a low murmur into Chris' skin, and he can feel the heated press of lips along his collarbone.

“Fuck you.”

“That can be arranged.” Peter's thumb flicks across one of Chris' nipples, and he jerks beneath the wolf as the spark of electricity shivers through him.

“Go to hell.”

Peter huffs a laugh against Chris' chest. “ _Why_ , Christopher?” And then his lips close around the nipple and Chris makes a strangled sound, furious at how he's reacting to Peter after what the werewolf has put him through.

“Because you're _mine_ , not his,” he hisses out finally. “I _love_ you, you fucking jackass. Now get the hell out of my room.”

“Nope,” returns Peter, popping the 'p' as he kneels back, letting Chris' wrists go, but staying where he is, straddling Chris' hips.

Chris shoves at him, throws a few punches, but Peter is immovable. “God dammit, why won't you leave me alone?”

Peter leans forward, rests his hands on either side of Chris and looks into the human's eyes.

“I've been waiting to hear those words since I was _sixteen_ years old, Christopher Argent.” He leans in more, so that his lips are only centimeters from Chris'. “You're the only one I've _ever_ loved.”

This time, Chris doesn't pull away, lifts his chin into Peter's kiss, and loses himself in it.

His lips twitch into a smirk when they part, gasping for breath, and he looks up at the werewolf.

“You're still an asshole.”

**Author's Note:**

> > Inspiration: Best I Ever Had by Vertical Horizon
>> 
>> Please let me know if I need to tag anything. 
>> 
>> Come say hi on [Tumblr](goddessofcruelty.tumblr.com)!
> 
> You **DO NOT** have my permission to show my works to anyone involved with the show.
> 
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